


Better Than That

by Severina



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Gapfillerpalooza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-11
Updated: 2004-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-10 19:11:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Em needed him.  To offer support.  To be the shoulder he could cry on.  To be the man he knew he could be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than That

**Author's Note:**

> Episode 111  
> Written for "Gapfillerpalooza"

Ted eased the door closed behind him, mindful of the time. It wasn't often that he straggled home past 3am, and most if not all of his neighbours were fast asleep. Of course, it wasn't often that he spent the hours between 10 and 2 huddled on Michael's sofa, cradling Emmett in his arms and reassuring his best friend that his test results were going to be negative.

Ted tossed his keys on the counter and headed for the fridge. He needed a beer... something to help him unwind before he got in a few hours sleep and then rose to face another day of comfort and support. So much for his Sunday plans -- a light workout at the gym, then relaxing with a little Vivaldi, some wine, and the latest work of brilliance by Howard Bellwether. He slumped on the couch, eyeing the hardback volume longingly. Maybe just the opening chapter... No. Ted shook his head. It didn't matter. Getting Emmett through this was more important. His best friend was more important.

It still amazed, no, shocked him at times... that flamboyant Emmett Honeycutt really was his friend. His closest friend. The one man he could confess anything to, and never fear reprisal or censure or ridicule.

He still remembered their first meeting with the utmost clarity. Despite having been born, raised and educated in Pittsburgh, Ted had never ventured onto Liberty Avenue. He told himself that the party all night, fuck whoever you want philosophy of the hard-bodied fags who spent their evenings trolling bars and clubs for fresh meat was simply beneath him. He was well-educated, a junior accountant on his way up the ladder at Wertshafter and Associates, a member of Mensa, an aficionado of classical music, taking classes in botany twice a week. He had nothing in common with the buff gym bunnies or flashy divas that he'd find in Pittsburgh's gay mecca. He was lonely, yes, but he'd find someone.

So he wasn't sure how he ended up at Woody's one Friday evening. His botany class has been cancelled, and he'd intended to head directly home and work on his tax return. Yet somehow he was at the bar on Karaoke Night, huddled over a draft and feeling more out of place than he'd ever felt in his life. Feeling more like a loser than he'd ever felt... Ted Schmidt, in his conservative tweed blazer and loafers. Conversation ebbed and flowed around him, half-naked men brushing past him to get to the bar, making his heart pound and his pulse race, and he could only crouch further over his beer and sneak covert looks from the corner of his eye.

He flinched when he felt the brush of feathers on his cheek, and shifted in his chair to give the newcomer more room. But the brush became a persistent tickle, and finally he hesitantly raised his eyes to find Emmett grinning at him mischievously, purple feather boa poised for another strike at his exposed skin.

"Well," Emmett had drawled, "something tells me you're new around here."

Ted had taken in Emmett's see-through fishnet muscle shirt and purple leather pants, and found himself tongue-tied and stammering. "Uh... I'm... no, actually..."

"It's okay, sweetie," Emmett had said, draping an arm comfortably around his shoulder, "I've been around the block a few... dozen times, and I know a newbie when I see one. Now you come with Auntie Em and I'll make sure you're all taken care of."

And he'd let himself be led to Emmett's table, met Emmett's friends, shed his blazer, gotten drunk on Emmett's favourite shooters, and somehow found himself singing backup to Emmett on "You Can't Hurry Love". His life was forever changed that night. He'd only learned later about Godiva, and Em's own first nights in the city, and his penchant for taking in pitiful looking strays, even if one was a semi-pretentious accountant with a dismaying lack of sparkle in his attire.

Ted shrugged off the memory and leaned forward, placing his empty beer bottle carefully on a coaster on the coffee table. His gaze fell on the framed photo of Giuseppe Verdi, keeping wary watch over him from the mantle. The eyes of the great genius seemed to follow him as he crossed to double-check that the door was locked and the bolt in place. He took his bottle into the small kitchenette and rinsed it before placing it with the other recyclables. And still Verdi watched.

Emmett had taken care of him. Emmett had shown him that he could be more than he ever thought possible, but he knew that part of him was still stuck somewhere in the past.

Now Em needed him. To offer support. To be the shoulder he could cry on. To be the man he knew he could be. He could do it.

But first he had a few little things to get rid of before bed.

Ted turned off the lights, plunging the condo into darkness. He padded quietly into the bedroom and stood, letting his eyes get accustomed to the filtery half light shining through the filmy curtains.

Then he took a deep breath, and opened the wardrobe.


End file.
